


Claws In

by umakoo



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Barista Otabek Altin, Cat/Human Hybrids, Catboy Yuri Plisetsky, Hybrids, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Otabek is 20, Yuri is 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 12:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15388308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/pseuds/umakoo
Summary: Otabek comes across a homeless hybrid on the street aka the AU where Yuri is a cat-human hybrid and Otabek has a soft spot for sharp-tongued kitties.





	Claws In

**Author's Note:**

> Can we please have more hybrid AUs in this fandom? Pretty please? :3 Big thanks to Selene and Bucky for the beta! <3 I also have [some fanart](https://russian-fairy.tumblr.com/post/176163262626/claws-in-119k-cat-human-hybridyuri) to go with the fic on my blog so check it out!

The platform is empty when Otabek steps out of the train, the quiet stillness that only exists in the hours before dawn like balm to his ears after the heavy noise of the club. The sound system at the Vortex is older than Otabek, and it always feels like the thump of the bass gets tattooed to his ribs. He’d played the second set of the night, but he’d hung around to watch a friend from Spain do her first gig in the States, and he aches to fall into bed and stay in it for a week.

 

The doors slide shut with a hiss and the train pulls into the tunnel as Otabek makes his way up the escalator and into the underpass. The station is usually empty at this hour, which is why a second set of footsteps bouncing from the concrete walls draws Otabek’s gaze up from his feet.

 

Someone staggers towards him from the opposite end of the tunnel, shoulders hunched and steps unsteady. Could be one of the drunks that sometimes sleep in the underpass, but the late November cold is so biting tonight that anyone with any sense stays indoors in this weather.

 

The figure looks up, face hidden behind a veil of dirty hair, and Otabek blinks at the angry hiss that reaches his ears.

 

What the hell?

 

He watches as the stranger sways against a brightly lit ad display on the wall. It’s followed by a scrape of claws against glass, and Otabek freezes when the guy slides down and collapses in front of the display, limp like a marionette with broken strings.

 

“Shit…”

 

He should keep walking, just look away and mind his own business. He’s a realist, he knows exactly what kind of neighborhood he lives in.

 

Otabek attempts to walk past the unconscious figure, but he makes the mistake of looking down and his shoes scrape against the concrete as he freezes mid-step.

 

It’s no drunk, but a hybrid, young by the looks of it.

 

His ears are hidden under a worn ushanka hat, but the striped tail, curled around one skinny leg is a dead giveaway. He’s dressed in a tattered army coat that looks at least three sizes too big on him, and Otabek frowns as his eyes land on a hand-shaped bruise on his exposed wrist.

 

Homeless hybrids aren’t that uncommon, but Otabek has never seen one so young. The kid can’t be older than fifteen or sixteen. His lip is split and there’s a rusty trail of dried blood under his left nostril, and judging by the red stains around his exposed claws, it’s pretty clear that he’s been in a fight.

 

Otabek glances up and down the empty tunnel. He has a shift at the café in less than twelve hours, so he really should just go home and fall into bed like he’d planned, go to work, serve coffee, ignore the assholes who only come in to use the bathroom, rinse and repeat.

 

Ten minutes later he’s standing at his front door with an unconscious hybrid in his arms, and maybe his ex was right, maybe he is too soft for his own good, though the term she’d used may have been ‘ _spineless_ ’. He has to set the guy on his feet to pull out his key from his back pocket, but he barely weighs a thing, his gaunt cheek resting against Otabek’s chest.

 

Otabek carries him inside and lowers him into the old armchair by the tv. The ushanka on the kid’s head falls to the floor as he slumps against the backrest, and one of his ears twitches even as he remains unconscious.

 

Otabek goes into the hallway to remove his boots and leather jacket and he shakes his head at his reflection when he passes the mirror. He’s done some stupid shit in his life, but bringing home a beat-up hybrid is definitely on top of that list.

 

When he returns to the living room, the boy is slumped against the armrest in an odd angle, the fur on his bare feet so dirty that it’s impossible to tell what color it is underneath the layer of grime. Should Otabek take him to a hospital? Do regular hospitals even treat hybrids or do they have their own special clinics?

 

He doesn’t know anything about hybrids beyond the common knowledge that they make up about 15% of the population and struggle more than non-hybrids because of their biology. The modeling and entertainment industries are full of them, but most of them burn out fast, forced out when someone younger and prettier comes along.

 

Otabek jumps when the boy lets out a quiet whine and shifts in the chair, the tip of his tail curling against his bony ankle. He’s malnourished and visibly roughed up, but it doesn’t look like he’s in any life-threatening danger, and Otabek decides to start unraveling the situation by drawing the kid a bath.

 

He removes his socks and rolls his jeans up to his knees as the bathtub fills up with warm water, and he drops in one of the bath bombs Phoebe got for him on Valentine’s Day, a week before she dumped him.

 

The hybrid’s nose twitches when Otabek picks him up, but his eyes remain closed, head lolling against his shoulder as Otabek sits him down on the toilet seat.

 

Two pointed ears lie flat against a mass of unwashed hair and the sight of them reminds Otabek of their differences. The army coat is full of old stains and poorly stitched tears, and there’s a name tag sewn into the fabric above the chest pocket. Otabek squints at the letters. His eyesight is shit without his reading glasses, but he can tell the name, much to his surprise, is written in Cyrillic, and he wonders if “ _N. Plisetsky_ ” is just a random stranger whose coat the kid has lifted, or if there’s an actual family connection.

 

He removes the coat and pushes it into a plastic bag, intending to wash it if the hybrid is still around in the morning. There’s only a faded old t-shirt underneath it, and Otabek can’t help the quiet gasp that slips from his lips as he lifts it, taking in the mottled bruises on the boy’s skinny torso.

 

“Shit…”

 

The kid clearly hadn’t won whatever brawl he was in.

 

Otabek lowers his fingers to the hybrid’s jeans, averting his eyes as he pulls them down along with his underwear.

 

He picks the boy up into his arms, careful not to twist the long tail, and lowers him into the warm water.

 

There’s a white, hot flash of pain in his arm, and it takes Otabek’s brain a moment to register its source. His eyes shoot down to his left forearm where the hybrid’s claws are buried into the inked letters of his old _Алматы_ tattoo.

 

It appears his guest is finally awake.

 

“What the fuck!? Who the hell are you, asshole?”

 

Otabek blinks, too stunned to speak as the front of his shirt is soaked by the hybrid’s wild thrashing. His breath spills out in a pained gasp when the sharp claws dig deeper.

 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok, I’m not going to hurt you!” He wraps his fingers around the hybrid’s wrist and applies a little pressure, careful not to hurt him. “Please, _ah fuck_ , let go, let go.”

 

The air in the room is almost electric with tension as they stare at each other. The hybrid’s ears are flat against his scalp, his tiny fangs exposed.

 

“Seriously, you’re gonna hit bone if you dig any deeper,” Otabek groans.

 

The hybrid scoffs, but the pain in Otabek’s arm finally lifts as he withdraws his claws. “Where the hell am I? And who the fuck are you?” The rude words are strongly accented, which has to mean the Russian name on the army coat probably did belong to a relative. Perhaps a grandfather?

 

“I’m Otabek.”

 

“Oh yeah? Well, what the hell am I doing in your bathtub, _Otabek_?” The hybrid glances down at himself, his tail swaying angrily where it pokes out from the water. “And where are my clothes?!”

 

“I saw you collapse in the underpass when I was walking home from the station. I, uh, brought you with me.” Otabek holds up the plastic bag. “Your clothes are all here, but they’re in serious need of a wash.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” The boy seems to calm down a little, but his ears are still flat against his scalp. “Well, as long as you didn’t throw them away.”

 

Otabek stares at the angry claw marks on his arm. If he’d known the slender little thing he’d carried home was going to be a literal hellcat, he’d probably left him in the tunnel.

 

Well, probably not. But fuck, does his arm sting.

 

“Sorry about that… It’s kinda hard to keep the claws in if I feel threatened.” The water sloshes as the hybrid shifts in the tub, unfolding his knees, his ears perking up a little. His voice is low and gruff, and Otabek wonders if he’s older than his small size suggests.

 

“I just wanted to help,” Otabek says, and he gets up to pull out the first aid kit from the cupboard above the sink.

 

“Yeah, well. Sorry.” The hybrid falls quiet as Otabek cleans the claw marks on his forearm, and his voice is a touch softer when he speaks again, “I’m Yuri.”

 

Otabek tosses the used wads of cotton into the wastebasket and nods. “Okay.” He follows the slow sway of Yuri’s tail as it comes to rest against the edge of the tub, sweeping back and forth over the porcelain. Is he angry? Frightened? Something in between? Otabek has no idea how to read a hybrid’s body language. He’s never even owned a regular cat.

 

Yuri presses his finger against the cut on his lip and draws in a pained hiss through his teeth. “I can bathe myself, you know?” he says, shooting Otabek a pointed look through his dirty fringe.

 

Otabek feels his cheeks heat up and drops his gaze to his bare feet. “Of course. I’ll, uh, leave you some clean clothes outside the door. There are towels on that shelf over there and you can use the first aid kit if you need some bandages or something.”

 

Yuri doesn’t answer and Otabek slips out to leave him to bathe in peace. He goes to rummage through his closet, aware that everything he owns is going to be too big on Yuri’s scrawny body, so he reaches into a small cardboard box in the bottom of the closet and pulls out one of Phoebe’s old t-shirts she’d left behind. There’s a pair of black leggings underneath some of her random junk, and Otabek hopes Yuri isn’t too picky as he places them on the floor just outside the bathroom door.

 

He pulls his own soaked t-shirt over his head and slumps down into the armchair. It’s almost 4AM and his eyes sting with lack of sleep as he waits for Yuri to emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until he’s blinking against the morning sun as it shines directly into his face through the slants in the dusty blinds.

 

There’s a kink in his neck and a haphazardly placed quilt on his naked shoulders. Otabek bounces up when he realizes who must have placed it there, half expecting his stereos and tv to be missing, but everything appears untouched.

 

He jumps at the sound of his fridge opening in the kitchen. It’s followed by a disappointed ‘mrow’, and Otabek wraps the quilt around his shoulders as he hurries to peek into the kitchen.

 

All the cupboard doors are open, the contents thoroughly rummaged, and in front of the fridge stands Yuri, wrinkling his nose at a leftover box of takeout from the Chinese place down the street.

 

His ears perk up and his tail freezes mid-sway as he becomes aware of Otabek’s presence.

 

“Are you aware that the only thing in your fridge is a moldy spring roll and a stale bottle of Evian?”

 

Yuri turns to glare at Otabek, his mouth pursed, like the lack of a gourmet breakfast is somehow a great personal affront. His blond hair is unbrushed and several shades lighter without the layer of oil and grime, and Phoebe’s old clothes appear to be a perfect match.

 

Otabek fixes his hold on the blanket and steps into the kitchen. “Uh, I take it you’re hungry?”

 

“Starving,” Yuri pouts. He hops onto the small island and sits himself down next to an empty fruit bowl. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes definitely says ‘feed me’.

 

“Sorry, but I’ve been pulling crazy shifts at the café I work at because my friend JJ is a flaky asshole, and I’ve played some extra gigs at a couple of clubs downtown, so it’s been a while since I ate something that wasn’t takeout.” He scratches his head and peers into one of the cupboards Yuri has already been through. “Um. I don’t really know what your kind eats?”

 

Yuri flicks his tail. There’s a small crinkle between his blond brows as he narrows his eyes at Otabek. “ _My kind_?”

 

Otabek shrugs, nodding at Yuri’s ears and tail as he pulls out a can of tuna. It’s almost like cat food, right? “You know, hybrids.” Has he said something wrong?

 

Yuri hops down from the counter and snatches the tuna from Otabek’s fingers. “Well, I sure as hell don’t eat this shit. I _hate_ tuna.”

 

Otabek blinks down at Yuri, and yep, he’s definitely said something stupid. “Okay, so no tuna…”

 

Yuri crosses his arms over his narrow chest and the pout on his lips seems to grow even steeper.

 

“Well, what exactly do you eat?” Otabek asks.

 

Yuri bites his lip, his small fangs standing out from the rest of his teeth. His eyes dart around the room as he mulls over Otabek’s question, the green of his irises bright around his slightly slanted pupils. He cocks his hip and tilts his chin up. “Pirozhki.”

 

“What?”

 

“I like pirozhki,” Yuri announces, and Otabek almost laughs at the demanding tone in his voice. His guest sure as hell isn’t modest. “You know how to make them?”

 

Otabek had had all kinds of pirozhki back in Kazakhstan, his cousins Vasily and Ilya always bringing some when they visited from Moscow. He considers Yuri’s name and accent and the demand for pirozhki, and decides to switch to Russian. “Yeah, I know how to make pirozhki.”

 

Yuri’s entire face lights up and his tail goes stiff with surprise at the sudden switch from English to Russian. He flicks his tongue against his fangs, the look in his eyes almost childishly pleading. “Can you make me some?”

 

Otabek glances at the clock on the microwave display. It’s only ten past nine and his shift at the café doesn’t start until midday. He looks at Yuri, wondering what the hell even is his life as he realizes he’s about to bake pirozhki with some guy he found on the street only a few hours ago.

 

“I’ll have to run to the store first. You saw my fridge, the only thing in there is that moldy spring roll.”

 

“I’ll go with you!” Yuri exclaims, the claws on his toes clicking against the linoleum floor as he dashes into the hallway.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri seems to know the neighborhood, walking a few steps ahead of Otabek as they make their way down the street. He’s pulling some looks from the early morning crowd, but if it bothers him, it doesn’t show. Otabek had offered to borrow him some shoes, but Yuri had declined, and looking at his feet, Otabek guesses hybrids have their own special footwear. He’s never seen such long toes and he has a weird urge to brush his fingers against the soft, white fur that covers the instep and the tips of Yuri’s toes.

 

“Wait, I don’t wanna go in there,” Yuri says suddenly, shaking his head when Otabek attempts to walk into his usual grocery store. “Let’s go to the one on the other side of the street, ok?”

 

Otabek shrugs and lets Yuri lead him across the street. He doesn’t say anything, but he can guess Yuri has probably run into some trouble with Mr and Mrs Bonelli, because a street kid who’s a hybrid to boot was bound to draw the old couple’s hawk-like gazes.

 

The bell above the door chimes its welcome and Yuri grabs a basket from the pile next to the entrance gate. Otabek huffs a quiet laugh as he watches him march down the narrow aisles, his tail curved up in a determined arch as he reaches into the shelves for the ingredients.

 

The whole situation feels absurd, but here he is, shopping for baking ingredients at nine thirty am on a Saturday. He wonders if all hybrids are so demanding or if Yuri is a special case. Otabek guesses it’s the latter when Yuri returns to him ten minutes later with a full basket. He arches his brow at the pack of twizzlers and the big cherry lollipop as he pulls out his wallet. “Ready?”

 

“Ready,” Yuri nods, flashing his fangs at Otabek.

 

The girl at the checkout narrows her painted eyes at Yuri as she takes in his bare feet and the too-big track jacket he’d borrowed from Otabek’s coat rack.

 

“What are you looking at, hag?” Yuri snaps, slamming a bag of flour on the counter.

 

The girl drops her gaze and looks like she’s swallowed a lemon by the time she rings in their total. Yuri shoots her a smug smile, popping the lollipop into his mouth as Otabek pays for their shopping.

 

Once they’re back at Otabek’s flat, Yuri sets all the ingredients on the counter while Otabek washes his hands and pulls out the novelty apron he’s never used before. His cheeks flush when Yuri eyes the suggestion to “kiss the cook” and drops his gaze to the large arrow pointing down to Otabek’s crotch.

 

“My friends got this for me as a joke.”

 

“Sure,” Yuri nods, the corner of his mouth curling up. He hops onto the counter and sits down to watch as Otabek pulls out a large mixing bowl.

 

The dough is easy enough to prepare, but the intense way Yuri watches each step makes Otabek’s stomach twist like it does before a gig at one of the bigger clubs.

 

“No, no, they need to be smaller,” Yuri interrupts as Otabek begins to cut the cabbage. “Dedushka always cut them like this.” He hops down from the counter and takes the knife from Otabek’s hand, the handle slightly ill-fitting for his elongated digits. He minces the cabbage into fine little pieces, and Otabek decides not to interfere when he begins to chop the boiled eggs as well.

 

“Did the ushanka and the jacket you were wearing last night belong to your Grandpa?” Otabek asks, watching Yuri from the corner of his eye. “It’s just that you don’t see that many Soviet era army coats in this part of the world…”

 

Yuri doesn’t lift his gaze from the cutting board, but he gives a small nod. “Da.”

 

Otabek hopes he isn’t pushing it too far when he continues, “He’s not around anymore?”

 

Yuri dumps the chopped cabbage onto the frying pan Otabek has heated up. His brows draw into a scowl, but there’s something vulnerable in his eyes when he glances up at Otabek. “Not since I was thirteen… But I can take care of myself,” he says, a little defensive.

 

Otabek doesn’t doubt that Yuri knows how to survive on the streets, but things had clearly gone wrong for him last night, the bruises on his body something Otabek wants to know more about, but maybe now isn’t the right time.

 

“And how old are you now? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

 

“I’m almost eighteen!” Yuri snaps, his tail turning bushy behind his back. “How old are you, asshole? Thirty?”

 

“Twenty…” Otabek rubs at the stubble on his chin, making a mental note to shave before his shift. “Sorry, it’s just that you’re kind of short.”

 

“Yeah? Well, so are you,” Yuri scoffs, and Otabek can’t really argue with him.

 

The dough is finally ready and Yuri lets Otabek take over, watching him like a hawk as Otabek begins to roll small buns from it. The look on his face is as critical as before and Otabek arches his brows at him.

 

“You wanna take over?

 

Yuri shakes his head and balls his hands into fists. His long fingers are covered in soft fur like his toes, and Otabek can guess why Yuri doesn’t want to touch the dough.

 

He wanders around the apartment while Otabek finishes their little pirozhki project. He seems to completely lack the usual boundaries you’d expect to see from someone you’ve met less than twelve hours before and he picks up Otabek’s things from the shelves, turning them around in his hands before plopping himself down on the couch.

 

He rubs at his nose and glances at the mixer-speaker combo in the corner of the living room. “Are you some kind of a musician or something?”

 

“Or something,” Otabek smiles. “I DJ on the weekends.”

 

“For real? That’s so cool.” Yuri sounds genuinely impressed and Otabek feels a surge of warmth somewhere under his ribcage.

 

“Yeah? I mean, most of the clubs want you to play whatever’s popular on the radio, but I do have some original stuff too.”

 

“Do you think you could get me to one of your gigs sometime?” Yuri asks, eyes wide and eager.

 

Otabek arches his brow at him, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You want to watch me play a set?”

 

“Hell yeah! I bet you’re the coolest DJ in the city.”

 

Otabek suspects that most of Yuri’s flattery is just him wanting to get into a club, but his cheeks heat up from the praise anyway. He’s seen hybrids at the clubs he plays at, gorgeous little things on the dance floor, but none of them hold a candle to Yuri, not even with his unbrushed hair and split lip. It’s easy to picture him on the dance floor, swaying to the beat of Otabek’s song.

 

“You’re still underage,” Otabek points out even as he gives Yuri a small smirk. “But I might be able to sneak you in. If you behave yourself...”

 

“I totally will!” Yuri nods, and Otabek knows he probably won’t, but he has a feeling that he’ll like that about Yuri if they ever get to know each other for real.

 

The timer on his phone goes off and Otabek takes the pirozhki out of the oven, piles them into a bowl and grabs two glasses and a carton of milk from the fridge. He sets them on a tray and carries their breakfast into the living room, pausing in the doorway to let out a quiet laugh when he sees Yuri lazing in a spot of sunlight, his tail flicking against the armrest in a relaxed manner. Not unlike a cat.

 

“Don’t say a word…” Yuri groans, sitting up when he catches the amused expression on Otabek’s face.

 

He reaches for the pirozhki with greedy fingers and lets out a little hiss when it burns the hairless skin of his palms.

 

“Careful, they’re still pretty hot.”

 

“I don’t care, I’m eating it,” Yuri says stubbornly, sinking his fangs into the steaming crust.

 

Otabek hurries to pour him a glass of cold milk, watching as Yuri alternates between chewing and cooling off his mouth with the milk. He’s on his third pirozhok and reaching for a fourth one when Otabek finally asks, “When’s the last time you ate?”

 

Yuri’s hand freezes and hovers above the bowl before he snatches one more pastry. He scowls at Otabek, like he’s embarrassed or angry, or maybe both? Otabek can’t really tell.

 

“I had some leftovers from the deli near the park the other night.”

 

Otabek doesn’t know what to say to that. ‘The other night’ could mean two or three days ago, and looking at the way Yuri is stuffing his face with pirozhki, it’s probably the latter.

 

They fall quiet for a while, but Otabek can feel Yuri’s eyes on him, senses the nervous energy in the room. His tail hangs between his legs, the striped end curling around his ankle. He’s cut a hole into the leggings to allow his tail to poke through the fabric, and he tugs on the lime green t-shirt, arching his brows at Otabek.

 

“So I’m guessing these aren’t yours?”

 

It’s a loaded question, and Otabek knows what Yuri is really asking about. “My ex left them behind when she moved out.”

 

The tension in Yuri’s shoulders seems to ease up a little with the knowledge that it’s just Otabek and his sad, lonely self living in the equally sad one bedroom apartment. “So… You work at some café, eh?”

 

“Yeah, next to the old multiplex that closed last summer.”

 

Yuri swallows the last of his pirozhok. “Oh. That place. I’ve never been inside, but my friend Mila said the coffee there is shit.”

 

Otabek chuckles at the blunt words. “Well, she was probably served by JJ. You should bring her around during one of my shifts. I’ve been told I make a killer mochachino.”

 

“She left town last year with some asshole she met at this party at the docks. Haven’t seen her since.”

 

“Oh. Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. I’m not.” Yuri grumbles, but he seems distracted, and Otabek follows his gaze to the front door.

 

He knows he’s probably out of his mind to even consider inviting a street kid to stay over, but the way Yuri looks at him, his green eyes wide, one of his ears tilted… Yeah, he’s totally gonna ask Yuri to stay.

 

“Do you want to stay while-”

 

“Can I stay here while you’re at work?”

 

They both blink at each other and Yuri exhales a nervous laugh, his claws kneading at the borrowed leggings.

 

“So I can stay?”

 

“Sure,” Otabek nods with a smile.

 

Yuri helps him to clean the kitchen and lingers in the bathroom doorway, watching Otabek shave and make himself presentable, or at least hide the fact that he’d barely slept last night.

 

“I’ll be home around six thirty if I can catch the train,” Otabek says, fingers sticky with wax as he runs them through his hair. He glances at the plastic bag that holds Yuri’s dirty clothes, still sitting on the floor. “I can leave you some change if you wanna go and wash your clothes at the laundromat. It’s just down the street if you take a left at the first traffic lights.”

 

He pulls his leather jacket over his shoulders and shoves his feet into his Doc Martens, slips his keys and wallet into his back pocket and puts some change and a spare key on the bureau. “Well, uh, I guess I’ll go now?”

 

Yuri’s gone back to the couch and lies coiled in the spot of sunlight again, his stomach round from all the pirozhki he’s eaten. He catches the way Otabek’s eyes linger on the various electronics in the room and he flicks his tail against the backrest. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna empty your flat while you’re gone,” he scoffs, the leather of the couch rustling as he gets more comfortable. “I think I’m too full to even get up from this couch.”

 

Otabek lets out a nervous laugh. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you later, Yuri.”

 

Yuri’s eyes are already closed, his tail curling around his knees. “Da, later.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Saturdays are always busy at the café, and Otabek doesn’t get a breather until the crowd of caffeine addicted students finally leave a little past four. He joins JJ in the back alley while Leo holds the fort inside and finds him on his phone as usual.

 

“How’s Isabella?” Otabek asks as he takes a seat on one of the empty boxes piled near the door, able to guess who JJ is texting with. “Any luck getting her to agree to a date yet?”

 

“The King doesn’t need luck,” JJ scoffs, flashing Otabek a smug grin. “I’ll have you know that I’ll be wining and dining her at the _Golden Swan_ this time next Friday.”

 

Otabek arches his brows, genuinely surprised. “Wow. So it only took six months…”

 

JJ looks up from his phone. “Hey, at least I’m trying. You haven’t been on a date since Phoebe dumped your ass over nine months ago.”

 

“Thanks for the reminder…” Otabek huffs.

 

He taps the heel of his boot against the asphalt and glances at his watch. Less than two hours to go. He wonders if Yuri’s been to the laundromat and if he’ll leave once his clothes are clean.

 

There are shelters for homeless hybrids around the city, but even Otabek knows about the underground trafficking rings that prey on those places. The thought of Yuri being taken from one makes his skin crawl.

 

He glances up at JJ who’s still smiling dopily at his phone. “I, uh… have a hybrid at home.”

 

JJ doesn’t even look up, his thumbs tapping at the screen. “What hybrid?”

 

“You know, a hybrid. He’s from Russia and he’s seventeen and-”

 

“ _What?_ ” JJ’s head snaps up, his blue eyes almost uncomfortably piercing as he turns his undivided attention on Otabek. “Beks, you sly dog!” He pockets his phone and comes over to smack Otabek on the shoulder. “Did you call one of those escort services? I hear they’re like super expensive, but totally worth it.”

 

“What? No! It’s not like that…” Otabek shoots JJ a disgusted look. “I found him at the train station last night on my way home from the Vortex. I think he’d been in a fight. He passed out right in front of me, I couldn’t just leave him there.”

 

The sleazy look on JJ’s face morphs into disbelief. “ _Dude_ , are you telling me you left a homeless alley cat alone in your apartment? With your laptop, stereo and brand new mixing equipment?”

 

“He’s not a cat, and yeah, I did.” Otabek feels his cheeks heat up, not because he’s embarrassed but because he knows JJ’s reaction is probably warranted. Shit. Had he been too naïve to trust Yuri not to walk to the nearest pawn shop with everything that wasn’t nailed down?

 

They both look over their shoulders when the back door opens and Leo’s distressed face pokes out. “That asshole who always changes his order like five times is back!” He casts Otabek a pleading look. “You’re the only one who can handle him, Beks, come on, help me out? He never takes as long when you give him _The Look_.”

 

Otabek follows Leo back inside, readying his death glare, but JJ stops him just outside the serving area.

 

“Careful, Otabek, once you invite a stray into your home it’s hard to throw it out.” JJ gives an obnoxious wink and wiggles his thick brows like he’s in a Tex Avery cartoon. “Those kitties go into heat, you know?”

 

“ _What_?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri is slouched on the sofa with his feet propped up on the armrest, claws hidden in soft fur when Otabek comes home after his shift. He’s fired up Otabek’s Playstation and appears to be in the middle of a heated online match with some of his friends back in Almaty.

 

Otabek hears Askhat’s loud swearing from the headset which hangs around Yuri’s neck, and his friend is clearly aware that Otabek’s profile is being used by a guest because the curses come out in Russian.

 

Yuri looks away from the tv and his entire face lights up when he sees Otabek standing in the hallway with two bags of takeout. “Oh, hi, Beka.”

 

 _Beka_.

 

“I see you’ve met some of my friends,” Otabek observes.

 

“I’ve met them and _kicked their asses,_ ” Yuri grins as he annihilates Dani’s avatar on the tv screen.

 

“Your new boyfriend is fucking brutal,” Dani yells into the microphone, this time in Kazakh. “Alexey rage quit after our fourth match because Yuri kept handing him his ass within five minutes into every respawn.”

 

Otabek doesn’t bother to correct Dani about the boyfriend part even as his face prickles with heat.

 

Yuri empties one more clip into someone’s chest before he drops out of the game. He’s still wearing Phoebe’s old t-shirt and leggings, but the army coat hangs in the coat rack, fresh from the laundromat.

 

His ears point up and his nose twitches when he spots the two paper bags in Otabek’s arms.

 

“I didn’t know what you like, so I got a bit of everything,” Otabek says and sets the bags on the coffee table. “No tuna, though,” he grins and joins Yuri on the couch.

 

The living room fills with mouth-watering scents as Yuri pulls out box after steaming box of Chinese food, giving the contents in each box a careful sniff. He settles on orange flavored chicken and reaches for the controller to switch to Netflix, one cheek bulging with food as he asks, “Any preferences?”

 

Otabek shakes his head and doesn’t complain when Yuri picks one of the endless superhero movies Otabek has never bothered to see, even though Leo keeps insisting that he’s missing out on an important cultural phenomenon.

 

“I tried to sneak into this one, but the asshole at the ticket counter was smarter than he looked,” Yuri says. He steals a shrimp from Otabek’s box and flashes him a pleased grin. “This is almost as good as the pirozhki we made this morning.”

 

Once all the takeout is gone, Yuri settles against the pillows and lets out what sounds like a very pleased purr. Otabek can’t help but stare a little, and Yuri narrows his eyes at him when Otabek fails to stifle the amused little laugh that rolls off his tongue.

 

He wants to text JJ and tell him that he was totally wrong, that his stereo and laptop are still intact, and ok it might be a little weird how Yuri seems to have just settled in when they’ve known each other for less than twenty four hours, but Otabek likes his company, likes _Yuri_.

 

The movie barely holds his attention and he ends up thinking about the bruises he’d seen all over Yuri’s body last night. Life on the streets is dangerous, and hybrids face their own challenges, but there’s something in Yuri’s eyes that tells Otabek he’s a survivor.

 

He looks down when he feels something soft brush against his calf. The hair of Yuri’s striped tail is silky soft as he winds it around Otabek’s ankle.

 

“Thanks for today… And last night and, well, everything. Most people would’ve just walked right past me.”

 

“I’m glad I happened to be there.”

 

“Yeah…” Yuri’s eyes dart to the front door, and Otabek doesn’t have to ask, he knows Yuri doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

 

_Once you invite a stray into your home it’s hard to throw it out._

 

Otabek ignores the echo of JJ’s words and shoves the warning to the back of his mind. He doesn’t pause or hesitate when he asks, “You wanna stay the night?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri’s one night on the couch turns into a week, then another, until he sort of ends up becoming a permanent fixture in Otabek’s life.

 

Otabek is aware that JJ was probably right, because just the thought of sending Yuri back on the streets is unthinkable now that Otabek has grown accustomed to his company. Besides, it’s nice to come home when the lights are already on and there’s someone there to greet him, often with freshly delivered takeout or something homemade from Dedushka’s secret recipe book that only exists in Yuri’s head now.

 

They spend their evenings going through Otabek’s movie library and humiliating his friends back home in intense and swear-heavy online matches. Some nights are more quiet, and Yuri likes to listen to Otabek read to him while he grooms himself at the other end of the couch.

 

“Come on, don’t stare, asshole,” Yuri groans, shooting Otabek a miffed look over his shoulder as he runs his tongue along the soft layer of fur on his hand.

 

“Sorry,” Otabek hums, a smile tugging on his lips as he drops his gaze back on the book.

 

Phoebe stuck around for five months, but most of his past relationships have never lasted beyond the initial honeymoon phase. Once people got to see how boring he was outside of the DJ scene and the leather jacket was switched to comfortable old sweaters and jogging pants, the magic seemed to wear off.

 

With Yuri, it’s all going in reverse and somehow he still seems to enjoy Otabek’s company, ugly sweatpants and all. Not that they’re dating or anything. Or are they? Otabek has no idea, because it’s been undeniably domestic, and yeah, Yuri is beautiful with his sharp eyes and even sharper tongue, but Otabek has no idea if he would welcome something more and he hesitates to make any moves, because he doesn't want to ruin the nice routine they've built.

 

When one night on the couch has turned into a month, Otabek steps out of the shower and finds Yuri curled up in his bed.

 

His hand freezes mid-motion, the towel he’s using to dry his hair falling to his shoulder as he stares at the lazy curl of Yuri’s body. He’s brought the spare blanket and his pillow with him, but his head rests on Otabek’s own pillow.

 

“ _Yuri_?”

 

Yuri’s ears twitch and his tail sways back and forth over the blanket, but he keeps his eyes closed, kneading the claws on his fingers into the sheet. “The couch makes my fur all itchy and gross-looking and there’s a spring that always digs into my butt cheek and I don’t want to sleep on it anymore.” His voice is rushed and so matter-of-fact that Otabek can’t help the stunned laugh that slips from his lips.

 

“Uh… Okay?” He wraps the towel around his neck and continues to stare at Yuri who already looks like he belongs in Otabek’s bed. And maybe he does? Otabek clears his throat and steps forward, his voice soft. “Okay, Yuri.”

 

Yuri cracks open one eye and withdraws his claws from the blanket. “Really?” he chirps.

 

“Yeah, scoot over,” Otabek smiles, tossing his towel over the back of his desk chair.

 

Yuri slips under the blanket while Otabek turns around to pull on a pair of boxers, settling into the space Yuri has made for him. He turns off the little night lamp, thankful for the dark that hides away the lingering blush that warms his cheeks.

 

The narrow mattress forces their bodies into close contact and Otabek glances down when he feels one of Yuri’s hands settle against his bare chest. He’s a little nervous about the claws, but the touch of Yuri’s paw is gentle.

 

“Beka?” Yuri asks, the tip of his tail moving back and forth between their legs. “Are we a couple?”

 

Otabek tilts his face, aware that Yuri can see the smile on his lips even in the dark. “I don’t know, are we?”

 

He feels Yuri press against his chest, his tail curling around his calf possessively, the kiss he presses to Otabek’s lips a little fumbling. “Definitely.”

 

Otabek exhales a quiet laugh against Yuri’s mouth and brings his hand up to scratch between his ears. His hair is almost as soft as his fur and Otabek feels the tips of his ears twitch every time his knuckles brush against them.

 

He blinks in the darkness when he hears the unmistakable sound of purring, his hand freezing in Yuri’s hair. “Yuri?”

 

“Shut up,” Yuri groans, curling his toes against Otabek’s shins. “I like it, ok?”

 

“Okay,” Otabek murmurs, resuming his gentle petting.

 

Yuri has only lived with him for a month, but Otabek has made sure to feed him well and he’s put on a few healthy pounds, the gaunt lines in his cheeks getting a little rounder every day. The bruises he’d had when Otabek first found him are all fully healed, but Otabek still has no idea how he’d gotten them.

 

He continues to pet Yuri’s hair, his voice a little hesitant when he speaks. “Yuri? Can I ask you something?”

 

“Mraw?” Yuri stretches in his arms, sounding like he was already half asleep.

 

“That night when I found you in the underpass… What happened to you? Why were you in there, covered in bruises?”

 

The purring stops like someone has flipped a switch and Otabek feels Yuri’s entire body grow stiff. He uncurls his tail where it’s wrapped around Otabek’s shin and pulls it between his own legs.

 

“Yuri?”

 

“It was some assholes in a black van,” Yuri says, the hiss that follows so angry that Otabek grows a little wary of his claws again. “I was on my way into a shelter when this car pulled in front of me and a bunch of guys in ski masks jumped me. They tried to drag me into their stupid van, but I clawed the shit out of their eyes and faces.”

 

“Fuck...” Otabek tightens his hold around Yuri’s waist and pulls him closer.

 

“Mila says they try to take us so they can sell us to old perverts or something.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve read about that. There’s a big market for… Well, never mind.” Otabek begins to scratch behind Yuri’s ear again, hoping the gentle touch is enough to calm him. “I’m just glad you fought back.”

 

Yuri bumps his forehead against Otabek’s shoulder, the purring in his chest resuming, a little quieter now. “They got me pretty bad, though. I’m glad you found me, Beka.”

 

Otabek tilts his head and presses a kiss to the crown of Yuri’s head. “Me too, Yura.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It turns out that JJ was right about the heat, too. It comes on fast and takes them both by surprise about two months into their relationship.

 

Yuri had begun to show up at the café soon after he moved in, helping out during the worst rush hours in exchange for free Affogatos. They’d ordered him a bunch of new clothes from stores that specialize in hybrid fashion and he looks like any other seventeen year old, save for the tail and the ears, of course, and the too-big Soviet army coat he refuses to part with.

 

It didn’t take Otabek long to learn that Yuri is impatient and has a Temper with a capital T. He’s so used to Yuri’s little outbursts that he doesn’t think it’s anything out of the ordinary when he hisses at JJ’s leery comments a little harder than usual, his sharp fangs exposed. JJ backs off, but only because Isabella is sitting in the corner table with her equally intimidating sister.

 

The next thing that fails to raise Otabek’s alarms comes in the late afternoon when Yuri sneaks behind the counter and presses himself against Otabek’s back as he’s preparing two skinny lattes.

 

Otabek huffs and rolls his eyes at him over his shoulder.

 

“Come on, Yura, I have to work.”

 

“Mrow, when does your shift end?”

 

Otabek blinks and lets out a stunned snort through his nose when he feels Yuri grind against the back of his thigh. “In one hour, come on, get on the other side of the counter before someone sees.”

 

Yuri slinks away, but he spends the rest of Otabek’s shift staring at him from the small crowd of customers, his gaze so distracting in its intensity that Otabek almost fucks up the last three orders.

 

It’s Friday, which means that Otabek has a short gig at Indigo, but they barely make it on time, because Yuri keeps him in bed until Otabek is forced to carry him to the shower. The product in his hair has barely settled and the shirt he’s pulled on is unwashed and ripped at the collar, but maybe the crowd will think it’s part of his aesthetic for the night or something.

 

The owner of the club isn’t in the habit of asking questions and it’s easy to sneak Yuri in through the backdoor. No one bats an eye at them when they walk into the small green room behind the stage and the DJ booth.

 

“You gonna behave?” Otabek asks, his smile wry as he takes out his laptop and headphones.

 

“Maybe. If you buy me a drink?” Yuri purrs, brushing his tail against Otabek’s flank.

 

Otabek rolls his eyes and pulls out a couple of free drink tickets from his wallet, one of the few benefits of the job. Yuri snatches them from his hand and leans in to plant a kiss to Otabek’s lips.

 

“Thanks, babe.”

 

He’s calmed down since the afternoon, probably because he rode Otabek for forty five minutes with zero breaks in the middle, but his kiss lingers and lingers until Otabek is forced to pull away and break it.

 

“Yuri…” Another kiss. “ I have to get ready-” Possessive fingers digging into his shoulders. “We’ll do this later ok?”

 

Yuri lets out a disappointed little sound and Otabek takes note of the way his pupils seem to swallow the green of his irises. His dick gives a weak throb at the sight and he knows he has to get Yuri out of the room before they do something stupid.

 

He gives Yuri’s round bottom a gentle smack and lets his fingers slide through the soft fur of his tail as he walks Yuri to the door.

 

“Play my favorite song?”

 

“You know I will,” Otabek smirks.

 

The room fills with heavy bass as Yuri disappears out through the door. Otabek blows out a breath and tucks at his jeans. He does his best to empty his mind from everything else as he opens his carefully planned setlist and prepares to walk into the booth.

 

The club is packed full and the dance floor looks like a living thing, beams of red and purple and green flashing over the mass of jumping, grinding bodies.

 

Otabek doesn’t spot Yuri in the crowd until the set list reaches the song he always requests, one of Otabek’s own mixes with a wild metal heart and a hypnotic bassline underneath the mix of electronic instruments. Otabek smiles when Yuri finally saunters down from the bar with a pink drink in his hand and joins the frenzied crowd on the dance floor.

 

He’s hardly the only hybrid at the club, but he is the most striking with his sleek tail and buttercup hair, his body like something from a fever dream as he moves to the beat of Otabek’s song.

 

Otabek has to look away before his concentration frays so much that he messes up his set, but he feels Yuri’s heated gaze on him all the way across the room.

 

Yuri is waiting for him in the green room when Otabek leaves the DJ booth, his ears still ringing and his chest tight with a rush of post-gig adrenaline.

 

Yuri pounces him the moment Otabek is through the door and he barely has time to set down his gear before he finds himself sprawled on the beat-up couch next to the water dispenser, the springs wailing under their bulk as Yuri climbs into his lap.

 

“Yura-”

 

Yuri’s kiss is sticky-sweet with sugar and his lips are red from artificial cherry. He digs his claws into the worn velvet and drags them down the fabric with a pleased purr as he licks into Otabek’s mouth, the sway of his hips as fluid as it was back on the dance floor.

 

He retracts his claws in and sinks his fingers into Otabek’s hair, and even all the product in it can’t keep Yuri from giving him the most obvious “I-just-made-out-with-my-boyfriend-in-the-backroom-like-a-horny-teenager” look.

 

Otabek is halfway to breathless when Yuri finally pulls back from the kiss and allows him a moment of reprieve. He drops his gaze to his lap when he feels hands on his belt buckle, tugging impatiently.

 

“Wait, wait, Yuri, we can’t,” Otabek gasps, clasping his hand around Yuri’s wrist, “not here.”

 

“Bekaaaaaa, _come on_ ,” Yuri whines, like Otabek has just snatched away his favorite thing in the world. Well, judging by the way he rode Otabek in the bedroom earlier, maybe he has.

 

Otabek shakes his head when Yuri’s fingers start working on his belt buckle again and he lifts him off his lap, ignoring the angry hiss that rolls up Yuri’s throat. “The next guy will be here any minute and I don’t want him to find me in here with my dick out.”

 

Yuri crosses his arms over his chest and purses his mouth, the tip of his tail swaying back and forth against Otabek’s ankle.

 

“We’ll do it when we get home, ok?” Otabek leans in to nuzzle at the soft fur where Yuri’s ear meets his scalp. “The next train leaves in twenty minutes, we’ll catch it if we hurry.”

 

Yuri jumps up from the couch and bounces on his heels, the look on his face almost desperate as he tugs on Otabek’s arm.

 

He’s restless the whole train ride home, clinging to Otabek’s arm, his tail flipping back and forth, back and forth as he rubs his cheek against the sleeve of Otabek’s leather jacket.

 

“Yura, what’s gotten into you?” Otabek laughs nervously, casting a self-conscious look at the woman and the middle-aged man who both glare at them from the other end of the car. “Come on, we’re almost home.”

 

The walk from the station takes twice as long with Yuri pausing them every two minutes to pull Otabek into a kiss and to grind against his thigh, his paws kneading at his hair where it’s shorn short. Yuri is already hard in his tight little jeans, and Otabek blinks and freezes mid-step when his brain finally connects the dots.

 

“Oh shit…” He detaches Yuri’s fingers from his hair and puts a little distance between them to get a proper look at him.

 

“ _Beka_.” Yuri purses his lips and pouts at him, his pupils wide against the green canvas of his irises. “Come on, I wanna make out.”

 

“Yuri, wait, how- how are you feeling?”

 

Yuri flashes his fangs, staring at Otabek like he’s the one acting weird. “Like my dick’s gonna fall off if you don’t touch it?” He makes another attempt to straddle Otabek’s thigh, right there, in front of the damn laundromat, but Otabek holds him back with a firm hand.

 

“Oh, Yuri… We have to get you home.” Otabek glances up and down the street before scooping Yuri in his arms.

 

“Beka! Put me down!” Yuri hisses, the hairs on his tail standing on end. He extends his claws, but he doesn’t bury them in Otabek’s skin, swiping at the air instead. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“Yuri, I think you’re going into heat.”

 

Yuri retracts his claws and his mouth goes slack as he stares at Otabek with stunned eyes. “ _What?_ ”

 

“I don’t know… It’s just something JJ said-”

 

“ _Leroy_! Don’t tell me you talk about me with that asshole!”

 

“I don’t. I mean, of course we talk about you, he’s my friend, but I don’t share any private stuff. He just kinda mentioned that hybrids can go into heat...”

 

“Fuck.” Yuri blinks, glancing down at his body as Otabek settles him down in front of their door.

 

“You’ve never had one before?”

 

“Hell no I haven’t!”

 

Yuri is in through the door the moment Otabek gets it open, but he freezes in front of the coat rack and jumps like someone has stung him.

 

“Yura?” Otabek casts him a worried look, taking in the stiff way he holds himself still. “You ok?”

 

  
Yuri doesn’t answer and Otabek frowns when he rushes into the bathroom and locks himself in.

 

What the hell?

 

He shrugs his jacket off his shoulders and follows Yuri to the bathroom, rapping his knuckles against the door.

 

“Are you ok?”

 

There’s a beat of silence before Otabek hears a miserable little, “No” from the other side. It’s followed by the clink of a belt buckle against porcelain tiles as Yuri kicks off his jeans.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

“ _No_.”

 

Otabek licks his lips and swallows against the sudden stomach burn his nerves are giving him. He leans his forehead against the door and waits.

 

It’s a long while before Yuri speaks again and this time he sounds more embarrassed than anything.

 

“I’m leaking something...”

 

Otabek blinks, taken aback by Yuri’s words. “Um. You are?”

 

“It’s gross!”

 

Yuri sounds so agitated that Otabek grabs the handle and gives it a rattle. “Come on, Yuri, just let me in. It’s ok, let me help. Please, babe?”

 

He holds his breath and stares at the handle, the nervous knot in his stomach loosening a notch when he finally hears Yuri turn the lock. He opens the door slowly and peeks in through the gap. Yuri stands in front of the bathtub, pulling at the hem of his top, his jeans lying in a pile under the sink.

 

He curls his long toes against the bath rug and glares at something on the wall next to Otabek’s head, refusing to meet his eyes.

 

“It’s ok,” Otabek repeats, stepping inside.

 

“The hell it is…” Yuri grumbles. Otabek opens his arms and Yuri accepts the invitation, pressing against his chest. It’s clear that he’s still hard in his underwear, but his ears droop against his head and the frenzy from the club has subsided with the shock. He looks up and Otabek can tell he’s afraid. “Beka, I feel weird. What the hell is this?”

 

Otabek doesn’t know anything about hybrid heats, but it’s not hard to guess where Yuri is leaking from. He gives his ear a comforting scratch and pulls out his phone from his back pocket. “Give me a moment, ok? We’ll figure this out, I promise.” He seats Yuri on the edge of the bathtub and types ‘hybrid heats’ into a search engine.

 

The first few results lead to porn sites and Otabek scrolls down until he finds a link that has a more medical ring to it. His gaze flicks across the screen as he reads through long paragraphs of clinically presented information about Yuri’s condition.

 

Yuri watches him with anxious eyes, the way his tail sweeps against the floor tiles revealing how nervous he is. “What does it say?”

 

“Well, it seems it’s all normal.” Otabek glances at Yuri’s ruined jeans. “It says here that this is something that’s supposed to happen to every healthy hybrid.”

 

He pushes his hair away from his eyes as he continues to read, frowning when he realizes that most hybrids have already experienced their first heat at Yuri’s age. But he’d been living on the streets since he was thirteen, so malnourished that his first heat must be coming at a delay now that he was in a stable environment.

 

Otabek’s eyes grow wide when they land on a paragraph about the duration of the heat, and he feels his stomach roll as he wonders if he’ll be able to keep Yuri satisfied for twenty four hours in a row. For _three whole days_.

 

“What? What is it, Beka?” Yuri snaps, catching the frown between Otabek’s brows. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong, Yura.” Otabek puts his phone away and bends down to gather Yuri in his arms, giving his lips a small peck. “Come on, I’ll take care of you.”

 

Otabek makes some preparations for the next three days while Yuri undresses himself and settles onto the towels Otabek has spread on their bed. He texts JJ and cashes in on all the favors he’s owed for covering JJ’s shifts in the past couple of months.

 

“Beka? Are you coming?” Yuri sounds impatient, but there’s also an edge of desperation in his voice that makes Otabek’s toes curl.

 

“I’ll be right over, babe.”

 

Once he’s sure that he won’t be missed at work, Otabek goes into the kitchen and grabs all the snacks he can find in the cupboards; protein bars, Yuri’s twizzlers, potato chips and the strawberry flavored poptarts Yuri likes. He tops it off with some fruit to make it all look a little healthier and piles them all on a large tray with a six pack of Evian, carrying the whole thing into their bedroom.

 

His breath catches in his throat when he finally sees Yuri on their bed, his striped tail curved over his back as he grinds his hips against the mattress.

 

Otabek’s cock is already chubbing up, tenting his boxers. “Fuck, Yura… Look at you.”

 

Yuri raises his head from the pillows, his hips stilling. He looks wild in the dim light, his fangs digging into his plump bottom lip as he chirps at Otabek. “Enough _looking_. Come on, why'd you make me wait so long?”

 

“I’m here now, and I’m gonna take care of you, ok?” Otabek sets the tray down on the desk and hurries to kick his boxers off his feet.

 

He tries to settle down and pull Yuri into his arms for their usual pre-sex snuggles that would grow gradually more heated, but it seems Yuri is well past the cuddling stage. Otabek lets out a surprised yelp that morphs into nervous laughter when Yuri plants his palms against Otabek’s chest and pushes him flat on his back; his wiry arms hide a surprising amount of strength, not that Otabek is struggling.

 

“No more cuddling,” Yuri announces, flicking his tongue over his teeth as he lets his gaze drop down to Otabek’s half-hard cock.

 

There’s a needy, impatient air to the way he holds himself, all coiled muscle, ready to pounce, and Otabek nods, ready to please.

 

“What do you need, Yura? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

 

“Just _fuck me_ ,” comes Yuri’s answer, his voice shifting into a purr as he settles on his hands and knees and presents himself for Otabek. He reaches between his thighs and there’s a wet sound as he taps his fingers against his hole.

 

The sight alone is enough to have Otabek fully hard as he sits up and settles himself between Yuri’s parted thighs. He drags his fingers down the spot where Yuri’s tail meets his spine, blinking when he feels the tips of his fingers become wet with slick, the fur on the underside of Yuri’s tail matted with it.

 

Curious, he brings his hand up and inhales, surprised by the sweetness of Yuri’s scent, and he doesn’t even have to be a hybrid to go a little wild from it.

 

Yuri watches him over his shoulder, his face hidden behind his hair, but Otabek can tell he’s blushing from the way his ears droop, his claws digging into the towel.

 

He leans down to press a kiss to the little dimples on Yuri’s lower back. “You smell amazing.” He hears Yuri gasp when he brings his fingers to his lips.

 

“Beka, don’t…”

 

Otabek flicks his tongue out for a taste, the intimacy of what he’s doing sending a warm jolt between his thighs. “You’re very… sweet,” he grins.

 

Yuri gives him a gentle smack with his tail and pushes his ass higher. “Please, don’t make me wait anymore. I-I really need to come.”

 

Otabek nods, hears the urgency in Yuri’s voice. “Okay.”

 

They were fucking less than a week into their relationship, and Otabek likes to think he’s become pretty good at reading Yuri’s body language, knows what pleases him and what’s off limits. And still his hands shake when he reaches for the old cookie tin on the window sill where they keep their condoms, like he’s sixteen again and full of first-time nerves.

 

He’s never witnessed a hybrid heat before and even the air in the room seems heavy with Yuri’s need. It makes Otabek’s blood heat, but what if he does something wrong? What if he simply isn’t enough for Yuri? Wouldn’t Yuri be better off with someone who shares his biology and understands his needs and-

 

“ _Beka_. I can practically hear you thinking”, Yuri groans. He wiggles his ass and digs his claws into the sheets, the cheapest ones Otabek could find in his linen closet, because Yuri has really poor claw control when he’s excited. “If your dick isn’t in me in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna order myself a dildo and kick you out of the bed.”

 

Otabek makes no mention of the fact that Yuri doesn’t even have an ID, let alone a credit card, mostly because he’s happy buying whatever Yuri needs, but also because Yuri shoots him another impatient glare over his shoulder and he usually means what he says.

 

“I’m almost done.” Otabek tries to tear open the foil packet, but his fingers are slippery with Yuri’s slick and it keeps sliding in his grip. “Ah fuck.”

 

Yuri rolls his eyes and reaches back to snatch the condom from Otabek’s hand. “You’re a disaster, Altin,” he sighs, but his voice is fond.

 

Otabek gives him a sheepish grin, but his mouth falls open in a gasp when Yuri wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and rolls the condom on so fast that it must be a personal record.

 

He flops back onto his belly and rests his weight on his knees as he lifts his ass and tail to expose _everything_.

 

Otabek lowers his eyes to Yuri’s cleft, the sight of his pink rim all wet and shiny going straight to his cock. He watches as a fresh drop of slick rolls down Yuri’s perineum and his hips jerk forward with the need to mount and bury himself in Yuri’s ass.

 

He reaches for Yuri’s hole and presses his thumb against it, about to ask if Yuri needs to be prepared first, but the question dies on his lips when he feels his entire thumb sink inside the slick heat, so lax and soft that Otabek’s hand freezes in surprise.

 

Yuri lets out a high-pitched moan that is closer to an actual yowl than any human sound. He rocks back into Otabek’s hand, fresh slick gathering around his rim and wetting Otabek’s palm. “Oh fuck, Beka…”

 

Otabek feels his cheeks grow warm at the lewd sound his thumb makes as he withdraws it, replacing it first with two, then _three_ fingers. “I think you’re good without prep?”

 

“Fucking peachy,” Yuri chuckles into the pillow, and he wraps his tail around Otabek’s waist to tug him closer.

 

Otabek settles between Yuri’s thighs and presses the tip of his cock against his hole, but the skin is so slippery against the latex of the condom that it takes a few tries to actually push inside.

 

Yuri’s tail lashes the air and he lets out a relieved gasp the moment Otabek finally succeeds, giving Yuri the full length of his cock in one single push.

 

Yuri always feels good, but the wet heat and the soft yield of him around Otabek’s cock is like nothing he’s felt before, not even with the girls he’s fucked in the past. Otabek can feel Yuri leak more slick around his cock and looking down, he sees it gather in the coarse hairs on his groin.

 

“Beka, I’m gonna-” Yuri’s words are cut off by a sharp cry and the pillowcase rips under his claws.

 

Otabek hasn’t even had a chance to move, but he feels Yuri clench around him, and when he reaches under Yuri’s belly, his palm is covered in warm spatters.

 

“Holy shit,” Yuri pants, still catching his breath.

 

Otabek blinks at the sticky puddle on his palm and wipes it on the edge of the towel. “Have you ever…?”

 

“Come that fast?” Yuri chuckles, biting into his own arm. “Not since the first time I jerked off.”

 

“Wow.” Otabek gives Yuri’s butt a light pat. “You ok to continue?”

 

Yuri nods, already grinding back to fuck himself on Otabek’s cock, sucking him in like something insatiable.

 

Otabek stares at the way Yuri’s body takes him in, spreading around his girth as the condom gets more and more soaked each time he thrusts into the slick.

 

He groans and grabs a hold of Yuri’s hips. “Babe… Can I go faster?”

 

“ _Mrow_.”

 

Otabek lets go at that, and the way Yuri’s body yields to him like it was made for this, for _him_ , strips away his usual gentle side. What lies beneath is raw and almost as desperate as Yuri, who writhes under his touch, his back arching into a sinuous bow, always so flexible while Otabek struggles to even reach his toes.

 

He fucks Yuri so hard that the headboard begins to bang against the wall like they’re in a bad porno, the air around them damp and honey sweet with Yuri’s scent. He’s starting to suspect that he isn’t completely immune to Yuri’s heat even if Yuri’s pheromones aren’t designed to entice him.

 

His head feels foggy and his stomach pulls tight with an intense need to empty himself inside Yuri, and he wishes he didn’t have to wear a condom, the desire to mark Yuri as _his_ almost overwhelming, but they’re not ready even for the idea of little Altin-Plisetskys, so he settles for leaving small love bites all over Yuri’s milky shoulders.

 

His orgasm hits him so fast that he doesn’t even realize he’s coming until he’s filling the condom in rapid bursts, fingers digging into Yuri’s flanks.

 

“Beka…” Yuri purrs, his tail curling around Otabek’s trembling thigh.

 

Otabek winds his arms around Yuri’s belly and pulls him tight against his pelvis, seeking out Yuri’s cock. He’s barely managed to wrap his fingers around its length when Yuri is spilling again, coming all over Otabek’s knuckles.

 

They slump down on the mess of towels and blankets and Otabek takes a moment to pull the condom off his softening cock, too tired to even attempt to aim for the waste bin.

 

“You ok?” Yuri asks as he curls against Otabek’s side.

 

Otabek exhales a quiet laugh. “I feel like I should be the one to ask _you_ that.” He tucks Yuri’s hair behind his ears. They look just like Otabek’s, but he’s noticed the hearing in them isn’t as well-developed as it is in the second set on top of his head.

 

“You want a drink? Something to eat?” Otabek asks, nodding at the tray full of junk food.

 

“Mmm, maybe later.” Yuri noses at Otabek’s neck and breathes in his scent as he settles his cheek against his bicep, his eyes slipping closed.

 

It’s twenty past three in the morning when Otabek wakes up to the sight of Yuri in his lap, legs astride as he rides Otabek’s cock.

 

“Hi,” Yuri grins.

 

“Uh. Hi,” Otabek chuckles, a little bewildered as he tries to blink the remaining sleep from his eyes.

 

Yuri’s pace falters a little as he reaches out to take a peach from the tray. He bites into the velvet flesh, and Otabek follows the trail of sticky juice as it runs down his chin and the small valleys of his throat. When the drop reaches the pink peak of Yuri’s nipple, Otabek’s hand shoots up like it’s tied to an invisible string. He collects the drop of juice with his thumb, and Yuri’s gaze turns hooded when Otabek captures it with his lips.

 

They smile at each other and Yuri continues to bounce on Otabek’s cock as he feeds him the rest of his peach.

 

The second round is slower and less intense, but the heat that drives every roll of Yuri’s hips never truly dissipates, building anew faster and faster.

 

Otabek is a little shocked to discover that they’ve gone through the entire box of condoms in the first two days of Yuri’s heat, and he can barely walk when he pulls on a pair of sweats and a mostly clean hoodie to run to the nearest drug store.

 

He’s gone sixteen minutes and forty three seconds, but it’s enough to drive Yuri into a frenzy. He pounces on Otabek the moment he’s close enough to their little nest, pushing him down and yanking his sweatpants beneath his buttocks to jerk him off until he’s hard enough for a fresh condom.

 

“Don’t I even get a kiss first?” Otabek laughs when Yuri climbs into his lap and grinds against his half-hard length.

 

The need in Yuri’s eyes dims a little and his expression grows fond as he leans down to cup Otabek’s face, the fur on his fingers soft against his lightly stubbled chin. He kisses the corner of Otabek’s mouth and flicks the coarse tip of his tongue against the seam of Otabek’s lips until he parts them for a proper kiss.

 

On the third day, their fucking has lost most of its passion and Otabek can’t even fill up the condoms anymore because Yuri has literally fucked him dry. He feels like a middle-aged man two decades too early, every muscle in his body sore, skin covered in accidental scratch marks.

 

He lies on his back and chews on the remains of Yuri’s half-eaten poptart as Yuri fucks himself on Otabek’s cock, the look in his eyes glazed over from lack of sleep.

 

The bed is a complete mess of rumpled sheets, food crumbs, tissues and empty water bottles, and Otabek can feel something that feels like a banana peel under his right ass cheek. The romance is definitely gone for the moment, but who the hell can blame them after three whole days of non-stop screwing.

 

He pauses his chewing when he feels Yuri clench around his cock, and he looks up with hopeful eyes when Yuri scrunches his nose and finally, _finally_ breathes out a relieved sigh. His orgasms are dry like Otabek’s and he slumps down the moment it’s over.

 

His own cock is already softening without the friction and it slips out the moment Yuri shifts to lie against his side.

 

“You ok, babe?” Otabek asks, stroking his fingers through Yuri’s hair, tangled and matted with sweat.

 

“Yeah,” Yuri pants. “I think… I think that was it, the last fucking round.” He rubs his nose against Otabek’s temple in his usual gesture of affection, but he stops abruptly and gives Otabek a sniff. “Beka.”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“No offense, but you reek like last week’s borscht.”

 

Otabek arches his brows and gives Yuri’s ear a playful flick. “Yeah? Well at least I’m not covered in Oreo filling and poptart crumbs on top of all the bodily fluids we’ve marinated in for the past three days.”

 

“Okay, okay, so we’re both filthy,” Yuri grumbles, wrinkling his nose at the ripe aroma in the room. He slumps against Otabek’s chest like a swooning maid and looks up with the same pleading eyes he gave Otabek the morning when he first asked if he could stay.

 

“Beka?”

 

“Yes, Yura?”

 

“Carry me to the bath?”

 

Otabek’s cheeks dimple. “Do you promise not to sink your claws into my arm this time?”

 

Yuri rolls his eyes at him, but he holds up his fingers and gives him a gentle swipe, his claws hidden in soft fur.

 

_End_


End file.
